


It’s a Dirty Job

by fireflavored



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflavored/pseuds/fireflavored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter wakes up after a night of debauchery to discover that he has a new employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s a Dirty Job

**Author's Note:**

> Prepare for silliness :D

  
Harry cracked open a bleary eye and frowned at the glaring sunlight streaming through the bare windows. He definitely wasn’t at Grimmauld Place, then.

No…this eye-piercing, skull-splitting lack of draperies meant that he had probably come to the cottage at Croyde last night. He shut his eyes against the hateful rays and tried to remember. He had been in Diagon Alley, drinking with George and Ron. That much he was sure of. He couldn’t for the life of him recall Apparating, though.

He dragged the heavy duvet over his head and tried to curl into a comfortable position. Unfortunately, the motion made him suddenly aware of his painfully full bladder. For a few minutes, he tried to ignore the pressure and drift back to sleep, but it was growing more agonising with every passing second.

With a miserable groan, he finally gave in, shoved the covers off and swung out of bed. He drew a sharp breath as his toes came in contact with the icy wood floor and his stomach gave an ominous lurch.

“Bastards,” he muttered, hoping that wherever Ron and George were, they were suffering at least as much as he was. “Never again.”

He pushed himself up from the bed and grabbed for the bedpost as he swayed violently. The pounding in his head mounted, and a horrible, high-pitched screeching sound filled his ears. He briefly considered pissing in the potted fern in the corner, but dismissed the idea as he was struck with another wave of nausea. If he was going to be sick, better to be at the toilet.

Harry staggered down the hallway toward the loo, periodically touching the wall to maintain his balance. He managed to stub his toe on the rough-hewn threshold, and then slip dramatically on the bath rug as he hopped toward the toilet clutching his foot.

He clung to the towel rack while he used the toilet, using all his concentration to stay upright and generally over the bowl. He was so exhausted by the effort involved that he had to lean his head on the wall for several minutes before he could contemplate moving to the sink to brush his teeth.

When he did finally lean over the sink, he was treated to a lancing pain behind his eyes and another cacophony of screeching in his ears. His stomach clenched and his mouth watered warningly. Clutching the counter for support, he managed a few swipes at his teeth with his toothbrush before he began gagging on the mint flavour of the paste.

He gave up, dropped his toothbrush in the sink, and sagged to the floor, stretching out and pressing his sweaty cheek to the cold tile. The relief it provided was short-lived, as the change in position caused his vision to spin and the horrible sound to resume with a vengeance.

Harry lay sprawled there for several long minutes, drawing deliberate, slow breaths and willing the world to stop tilting on its axis. Eventually, his stomach settled and the bathroom stopped turning like a carousel. The noise, however, did not cease; it seemed to grow louder and gain in pitch, bringing to mind a thousand fingernails dragging across a gigantic chalkboard.

Harry frowned. There was something odd about the sound. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like it was coming from outside his head—from somewhere in the cottage, in fact.

He rolled to his belly and pressed up on all fours, reaching shakily for the doorknob and managing to pull himself back to his feet with a minimum of vertigo. He heard it again. It was definitely _not_ coming from inside his throbbing skull. Now that he focussed, it sounded very much as if it was coming from the sitting room.

He tiptoed back to his bedroom in search of his wand. His attempt at stealth was ruined when, in his haste to grab the wand from the bedside table, he tripped over his own boots. He flailed and grabbed for something to catch himself on, unfortunately finding the bedside lamp and toppling it to the floor with a loud crash.

Harry seized his wand and spun back to the door, swaying dangerously as his equilibrium deserted him yet again. He squinted down the hall, searching for possible signs of attack, but there was nothing.

Nothing, that is, apart from the wretched, ear-piercing noise, which Harry was now positive was emanating from his sitting room. He crept down the hallway, pausing each time the screeching stopped in order to mask his footsteps.

He reached the door and peered around the corner, his heart pumping at an alarming rate and his stomach clenching horribly. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for the noise, which seemed to be coming from the fireplace. Now that he was closer, it sounded vaguely metallic, as if someone was trying to force his way through the Floo in a suit of armour. Harry tightened his sweaty grip on his wand and eased into the room.

As he approached the fireplace, a fine powder sifted down from the Floo and landed on the grate. Harry let out a yelp and jumped back as a pair of bare feet suddenly dropped into view. Moments later legs and a torso appeared, as a man dropped out of the Floo and landed lightly in a crouching position in the middle of Harry’s fireplace. The man reached up, pulled off a blackened facemask, and ran his equally filthy hands through his pale blond hair.

“Malfoy?” Harry croaked.

Malfoy glanced at him over his shoulder, before reaching back into the chimney and yanking out a long pole, which screeched horribly as it came down.

“Morning, Potter. I didn’t realise you were in residence today.”

“You didn’t realise I was in _residence_? This is my fucking house, Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I’m cleaning your chimney.”

Harry stared at him, his sluggish brain straining to compose a response. He finally settled for the most obvious question.

“ _Why_ are you cleaning my chimney?”

“You hired me.” Malfoy tilted his head and squinted at Harry. “Last night… The Leaky Cauldron. Any of this ringing any bells?”

Harry sifted through the few snippets of memory he had of the previous evening. He _had_ been at The Leaky, that much was certain. He remembered Ron sitting with his back to the fire, shouting something about who he had to fuck to get a decent Firewhisky Sour.

With a sinking feeling, he recalled an image of Malfoy leaning against the bar dressed in dark denims and a black t-shirt, hip cocked out, lips wet from the shot he had just tossed back. And another of Malfoy grinning and leaning in close to Harry. And a low voice that even now shot straight to Harry’s groin. _It’s a dirty job, Potter, but somebody’s got to do it._

That was all of the specific detail Harry could recall, but there was a lingering atmosphere of excitement to the memory. _Oh fuck_ , he thought frantically, _I think I was trying to pull Malfoy_.

Harry grimaced. “Did I Floo Luna at two in the morning?”

“You did.” Malfoy smirked. “She’d arranged everything by half six. That’s one efficient private secretary you’ve got.”

“Yes, she’s amazing,” Harry sighed. “I think I’d better send her some flowers.”

Harry sank into the absurdly overstuffed paisley sofa that dominated the sitting room as yet another wave of nausea struck.

“Are you feeling quite well, Potter?” Malfoy asked.

“Actually, no. I had a bit too much to drink last night, I think,” Harry said, hoping this would excuse anything he may, or may not, have said to Malfoy the prior evening.

The bastard actually snorted. “A _bit_ too much? You grabbed my arse, Potter.”

Harry looked up quickly at this and immediately regretted it. For one thing, the motion incited an agonising, sharp pain in his left temple. Additionally, it caused Harry to really look at Malfoy. Malfoy, who was wearing those very same snugly-fitted jeans and an equally flattering black cable-knit jumper. And no shoes.

“Do you usually climb around people’s chimneys in your bare feet, Malfoy?”

“Nicely dodged, Potter,” Malfoy said, with an unsettlingly amiable smile. “Yes, I do, actually. It’s easier to climb the interior of these older stacks without boots on. The footholds were made for children, so they can be very small.”

“Is that why you’re so thin? In order to fit in chimneys?”

Malfoy’s smile evaporated and he folded his arms over his chest. “It’s helpful to be as fit as possible, certainly. Space enhancing spells can react badly with Floo Powder, so I use them as infrequently as possible. It’s not as if I’m _skinny_ , Potter. Besides which, you’re in no position to judge on that score.”

Harry had the feeling he had managed to insult Malfoy somehow, and it made him feel marginally better.

“So…” Harry said, feeling a little more in control of the situation. “You’re a _chimney sweep_? How, exactly, did that come about?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Chimney sweeping is a highly regarded profession, Potter, so you can keep that snide tone to yourself. As for how I came to be a sweep—” Malfoy’s smirk returned with interest, “—we covered this last night. Surely you remember?”

Harry rubbed at the crease forming between his eyes.

“No? Hmm. I suppose it’s a good thing we only _talked_ , then.” Malfoy was now leering malevolently at him. “Otherwise, I might be feeling a little insulted this morning.”

Harry thought he sounded a bit insulted anyway. “Look, Malfoy, I was incredibly pissed last night. I really need to go somewhere quiet and sleep this off. Would it be possible for me to use the Floo now, and continue this bizarre conversation at some other time? Perhaps when I’m not about to die?”

Malfoy’s face tightened before he ran a hand across it, erasing all traces of emotion and replacing it with a smear of black soot, which shimmered oddly in the morning sun.

“Have you got _glitter_ on, Malfoy?”

Malfoy glanced at his hand with a start.

“It’s residual Floo powder, you incredible idiot,” Malfoy retorted. “And, no, you cannot use the Floo. It’s been disconnected for servicing and it can’t be reconnected until it’s had an official inspection by the FRP. The perils of possessing a Class One protected Floo account. You’ll just have to Apparate if you want to leave so badly.”

Harry stared openly as a ray of light from the window illuminated the fine dusting of silvery-black powder that was, in fact, covering Malfoy from head to toe. He entertained a brief fantasy involving a wet washcloth and Malfoy’s cheekbones, before his mind caught up to itself with a jolt.

“Oh, fuck it,” he gasped, grabbing his wand and Apparating to Grimmauld Place.

***

Harry emerged from the nauseating vortex of Apparition, promptly dropped to his knees, and vomited in the troll’s leg umbrella stand in the entrance hall.

A loud crack sounded moments later and, for one horrifying second, Harry thought Malfoy had followed him somehow. He clung to the troll’s leg and squeezed his burning eyes shut.

“Would Master be liking a bath?” Kreacher’s voice croaked.

Harry was so relieved he could have kissed him. “Yes, please, Kreacher,” he said, speaking into the umbrella stand. “And, some tea would be very helpful.”

After Kreacher had gone, Harry managed a feeble Scourgify to clean up his sick and slumped against the leg of the hall table. He shut his eyes again and tried to assimilate all that he had just learned.

Draco Malfoy was a chimney sweep. Draco Malfoy was _his_ chimney sweep. There also seemed to be an element of flirtation woven into whatever arrangements he had made with Malfoy, incredible as that seemed.

Harry righted himself and stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen where, thankfully, Kreacher had already laid out the tea. He dropped his wand on the table and, after pouring a cup, he sank to his knees in front of the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder, noticing for the first time the way it made his hand faintly glimmer.

“Luna Lovegood,” he called, sticking his head into the green flames.

Luna was sitting on her loveseat, tea in hand, as if she had been waiting for him.

“Good Morning, Harry,” she said in a lilting voice.

“Morning, Luna. I’m very sorry I woke you last night.”

“Oh, you didn’t wake me. I had been reading a fascinating article on Moon Frogs. Did you know that there have been reports of one the size of a dog in the Amazon?”

“Oh, uh, no. I hadn’t heard that. Well, I’m glad I didn’t drag you from bed. Still…I’m sorry for bothering you when I was, you know, _like that_.

Luna tilted her head questioningly. “Drunk, you mean?”

Harry winced. “Yes, drunk. Listen, Luna, could you possibly tell me exactly what we discussed last night? I’m afraid some of the details are a little fuzzy.”

Luna tucked her feet under her robes and set her tea aside. “Well, what _do_ you remember?”

“Er,” Harry stalled. “Not much—nothing, actually. Only that I saw Malfoy, and that at some point I Flooed you about hiring him.”

“That’s too bad,” said Luna with dreamy smile. “It seemed as though you were about to have a memorable evening.”

Harry’s stomach lurched again and he groped behind him for his cup of tea. “Please tell me I was not hitting on Malfoy.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. But, it did seem as though you wanted to hire him quite badly. And, I _did_ have to wake the head of the Floo Regulation Panel this morning. He was very cross about being given such late notice for such a large job.”

“Large job?” Harry repeated.

“Well, yes,” said Luna, taking another sip of her tea. “There are a total of seven regulated fireplaces at all of your properties Harry. Apparently, it’s customary to apply for service at just one residence at a time. He was terribly uncooperative.”

“I’ve hired Malfoy to service _all_ my chimneys?”

“Every one,” said Luna brightly.

“You know, I didn’t really think this through, Luna. I mean, since when is Malfoy a chimney sweep? We don’t even know if he’s licensed. You should probably--—”

“Of course he’s licensed,” Luna said serenely. “Draco is considered the best in the business. I would have hired him ages ago if I’d thought you’d be amenable. You’re quite often resistant to home improvement, though.”

“So, he’s a well-known chimney sweep? How was I unaware of this?”

Luna shrugged. “It’s common knowledge.”

“Where is he going to be working next?” Harry asked. “After he finishes at Croyde?”

“The Floo Authority is still working out a schedule for disconnection and inspection,” said Luna airily. “They’ll be keeping in touch with Draco as inspectors become available. You don’t have to worry about anything, Harry.” She stood up and started for her kitchen, teacup in hand. “I think your bath must be ready.”

Harry turned to see Kreacher hovering over him with a fresh towel clutched in his gnarled hands. He pulled his head out of the fire and shoved to his feet, taking the towel gratefully.

* * *

Once immersed in the hot bath, Harry began to feel a bit less like imminent death. As he scoured the scent of cigarettes and stale mead from his skin with a flannel, the image of Malfoy’s soot-covered neck floated through his mind. He scrubbed slowly at his own throat, allowing his imagination to run free this time.

Did Malfoy have someone at home to help him get clean when he came in from a long day’s work? Surely after labouring in filthy chimneys all day, he would appreciate a relaxing and methodical bathing.

Harry rubbed in circles across his own tense shoulders, imagining working the kinks out of Malfoy’s strong, climbing-honed muscles. He worked his way around to the back of his head, running the cloth through the short hairs at his nape and shivering at the sensation. He let out a loud sigh, imagining Malfoy’s contentment at having strong hands wash the black residue from his hair.

His hands drifted down his chest, scraping over his nipples lightly before continuing down his stomach to his groin. Harry rubbed lightly at the juncture of his thigh and pelvis, enjoying the rough tickle of the terry. He reached further between his legs, wrapping the flannel gently around his balls and shuddering as the free end floated down to graze his arse.

A loud crack rent the silence of the bathroom, causing Harry to squeeze himself painfully.

“Master is being summoned to the fire,” Kreacher croaked. “They is not wanting to leave a message.”

Harry sighed and dropped his flannel, tensing as it slipped between his legs and settled at the bottom of the tub.

“I’ll be right there, Kreacher,” he said, wondering whether he should consider the interruption a blessing or a curse. After all, he had been about to wank to thoughts about _Draco Malfoy_.

Harry stared balefully at his erection for a moment before heaving himself from the tub and wrapping a towel around his midsection. The towel did little to disguise his condition, and Harry decided it would serve the insistent bastard right.

He stomped back to the kitchen, trailing bathwater behind him and muttering the increasingly inventive insults he planned to use on whomever it was that was forcing him back to the fireplace.

“This had better be fucking good,” he snarled, as he strode into the kitchen. He skidded to a stop in horror as he recognized the blond head in the flames.

“I need to come through, Potter,” Malfoy said briskly. “I’ve only been granted access to your properties by Floo and they’re shutting this one down in a matter of minutes. I tried to explain to that infernal elf, but he wouldn’t let me in.”

Harry gripped his towel in a panic.

“Damn it, Potter. Take down this ward before they close the fucking Floo access.”

Harry inched sideways into the kitchen, trying to reach for his wand without exposing himself to Malfoy.

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry bunched his towel in front of him as best he could manage and flicked his wand at the fireplace, dropping the wards to admit Malfoy.

Malfoy climbed out of the fireplace, if possible looking even filthier than he had forty minutes prior. He brushed irately at his clothing, knocking black soot and silvery Floo powder all over the hearth.

“Merlin’s tit, Potter. Have you _ever_ had this Floo serviced? I think this is Tudor Era coal.”

Malfoy rounded on him, another insult clearly poised on his tongue, and froze. His eyes raked Harry’s form, apparently only now noticing the lack of clothing. Harry clutched more tightly at his towel as Malfoy’s eyes came to rest on Harry’s groin.

“Well, well,” Malfoy said, his voice dropping several octaves, “I stand corrected.”

“What?” Harry squeaked. His voice had unfortunately gone several octaves higher.

“I was certain you were exaggerating,” Malfoy said, eyes still focussed on Harry’s towel.

“Exaggerating?” Harry was mortified to discover that his voice could go higher still.

Malfoy’s gaze travelled back up Harry’s body, pausing at several intervals—if Harry was not mistaken—to watch the progress of beads of bathwater running down from his hair.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you, Potter?” he asked, when his eyes finally met Harry’s. Harry shook his head, rather than risk another jump in pitch.

“Pity. I thought…” Malfoy shook his head. “No. Some things just are as they are.” He turned to face the fireplace. “This stack is much too narrow to access from inside. Will the wards allow me to Apparate to the roof?” He bent over and began lacing his boots.

Harry, still mutely wondering what Malfoy had stopped himself saying, just stared. He might have continued to do so indefinitely if Kreacher had not returned to the kitchen with a shockingly loud crack.

“Would Master be liking Kreacher to take the _soot_ to the roof?” he croaked. Malfoy turned, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the little elf.

“Kreacher!” Harry admonished, relieved to find his voice had returned to its proper register.

“It’s fine, Potter,” said Malfoy, through gritted teeth. “This elf is so ancient, I imagine he’s been around since that was an acceptable term.”

Kreacher returned Malfoy’s glare before turning expectant eyes on Harry.

Harry sighed. “Yes, please take him to the roof, Kreacher.” In the corner of his eye, Malfoy tensed noticeably. “And be _polite_.”

Malfoy snorted, gathered up his tool bag, and reached his hand out to Kreacher, making no attempt to disguise his distaste. With another agonizingly loud crack, they were gone.

Harry stumbled up the stairs to his room to dress. The pleasant relaxation from the bath had dissipated, leaving him intensely aware of his pounding head and parched mouth. By the time he reached his bedroom, he felt as if he’d just played a three-day game of Quidditch.

He pulled a pair of jeans and his favourite comfort t-shirt from the drawer and eyed them heavily. Surely Malfoy would be tied up for long enough to take a short nap. He set the clothes on his beside table, shed his towel, and slid between the sheets with a groan. His last conscious thought was of Malfoy’s bare feet dangling from the fireplace.

* * *

What seemed like mere moments later, Harry cracked open a bleary eye, struggling to separate his dream from reality. In one, a warm, calloused hand had just taken a firm grip on his cock in order to guide it between soft lips still shining with Firewhisky. In the other, an irritated voice was snapping, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry blinked rapidly, but his daily vision charm had clearly worn off and his eyes refused to focus. He groped for his glasses, overturning a cup of tepid tea and knocking his wand to the floor in the process.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Malfoy said, sounding only passingly apologetic. “When I said I needed to speak with you, I didn’t anticipate being Apparated directly into your bedchamber.”

“Kreacher was only being _polite_ ,” the elf retorted, sounding even less contrite.

Harry was unable to control a scowl when he considered what they had interrupted. A scowl that was quickly replaced by total mortification after a moment’s further consideration. He snatched at his sheets, bunching them belatedly across his lap, his eyes flitting from Kreacher to Malfoy.

Malfoy was once again unabashedly staring. “You didn’t mention these exhibitionist tendencies, Potter. Not that it would be a problem, mind you.”

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, dragging as much bedding around him as possible. “This is my bedroom, Malfoy. It’s not exactly a public toilet.”

“Alas,” said Malfoy, tearing his gaze away and looking interestedly around the room. Before Harry could decide what _that_ meant, he added, “The aesthetic quality of your homes isn’t terribly high on your priority list, is it, Potter?”

“No, not terribly,” Harry snapped. He had heard enough lectures from Luna on this subject to last a lifetime. “Perhaps when you’ve finished with the chimneys you’d like to contract yourself out as my interior decorator.”

As insults went, it wasn’t his best. Malfoy merely smirked and said, “Perhaps I should.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Harry said, meaning rudeness with every cell in his body, “but what exactly did you want.”

Malfoy’s smirk faded away, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for his nasty tone.

“Apparently, the head of the FRP has decided he likes me even less than he previously thought. He’s refusing to send an inspector out to this location until later this afternoon, and he’s already closed the Floos at your properties in Godric’s Hollow and Inverness.” Malfoy’s shoulders slumped a bit. “In short, I need you to take me by Side-Along Apparition if I’m to finish the job. The elf refuses.”

Harry stifled a chuckle as Kreacher folded his arms across his skinny chest and adopted a defiant expression. “The _soot_ has _no business_ in Master’s ancestral home,” he croaked, lifting his chin.

Harry’s internal hilarity rose as he watched Malfoy adopt an identical stance to Kreacher’s.

“Your elf is so senile, he can no longer draw a parallel between _having a contract_ and _having business_ , Potter. Really, I have no idea how you cope with it.”

Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture, only to have his sheets slip dangerously low on his hips. He grabbed at them again, trying to ignore Malfoy’s mocking stare. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get dressed,” he said, looking anywhere but at Malfoy. “Kreacher, could you please make some toast and tea?” There was a piercing crack and Kreacher was gone. “For two, Kreacher,” he shouted. Malfoy gave him a pleased, if startled, look and turned to leave the room.

“May I use the bathroom, Potter?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Of course,” said Harry, working hard to push away thoughts of Malfoy in his tub. “Second door on the left.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, as Harry was washing down an unappetising bite of toast with a sip of tea, Malfoy appeared at the table. The soot had been spelled out of his clothes, his skin had been scrubbed clean, and his damp hair was clinging to his face and neck.

Harry choked on his tea. “Did you actually use my bath, Malfoy?”

The blush that rose on Malfoy’s cheeks answered the question. “I warmed it back up. I just thought if we were having breakfast, I should clean up.”

Harry felt his own face heat up as his treacherous mind conjured up images of what he had been doing in that same water only a few hours prior. “That’s, uh—of course. Toast?” he offered, taking a nervous bite of his own.

Suddenly Harry’s toast sounded unnaturally crunchy in the silence. He swallowed hard, watching Malfoy peel the crust from his own slice.

“So, um, how did you become a chimney sweep?” Malfoy gave him an impenetrable look. “I know, I know, we already talked about it last night. Can you just humour me and tell me again?”

“Not much to tell,” Malfoy started slowly. “It’s a Malfoy tradition. All male heirs learn a physical trade. It’s meant to instil a respect for the luxuries provided by inheritance. My father apprenticed me to a Floo Master when I was seven.”

“Seven?” Harry spluttered.

“I was small enough to have climbed this chimney back then,” he said, indicating the fireplace. “All the masters have young apprentices.”

“Do you?” Harry asked, appalled.

“No. There are other ways to service a narrow stack.” Though he said this with a perfectly straight face, Harry suspected that Malfoy had fully intended the double-entendre. He suspected so even more when Malfoy took a long pause in order to lick the butter from his fingers.

“Anyway, I hated it as a child; I wouldn’t do that to another young wizard. I have to admit, though, it’s turned out to be a good thing I’ve got a skill that allows me to work for myself. There weren’t many people interested in hiring me after the war.” Malfoy broke off, his eyes darting around the kitchen. “What about you?” he said, clearing his throat. “I thought you were headed for the Aurors.”

“I did the first six months of training. Turns out my reluctance to use more, uh, damaging spells was a deal breaker.” Malfoy flinched almost imperceptibly, but Harry saw it. “So, anyway, I washed out. That’s the only thing I ever wanted to do, though. I’m still trying to work out a second choice.”

“So in the meantime, you’re collecting property?”

Harry flushed again. “Not exactly. I like the ocean, so I got the cottage for holidays. This place, I inherited. The house in Godric’s Hollow belonged to my parents. I rebuilt it—this is going to sound weird, but—I just wanted to see it.” He paused to allow Malfoy the opening for a snide comment, but he merely continued to chew his toast. “The place in the north is just…I wanted something a little closer to Hogwarts. I don’t know. I’m still trying to work out where I want to be, too.”

Malfoy nodded and picked at his toast crusts.

“What else did we talk about, Malfoy?” Harry was immediately sorry he’d asked, as Malfoy’s face transformed into a lascivious leer.

“This and that. Primarily, I learned that you’ve got an impressive collection of cheesy chat-up lines.” He stood and gathered his tools together, smirking openly. “We should probably get started. I’ve still got four chimneys to go. You want to get your money’s worth, don’t you?”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, desperately raking his mind for further memories. All he managed to retrieve was another image of Malfoy at the bar, his tongue swiping a stray drop of liquid from the rim of his glass. “I wasn’t thinking about the time.”

* * *

Harry Apparated Malfoy to his parents’ newly rebuilt home in Godric’s Hollow. To Malfoy’s credit, he refrained from making commentary on the near total lack of furnishings.

Instead, he peered up into the Floo, toeing off his boots as he spoke. “This looks as if it’s never been used, Potter. While it will make a nice change of pace from the previous two nightmares, it hardly seems to require my services.”

“I’ve used it a few times,” Harry mumbled. “I don’t come here very often.”

Malfoy hoisted himself up into the chimney and Harry watched as his pale feet disappeared from view. He listened to the scraping of Malfoy’s hands and feet as he scaled the stack, pausing every now and then to sound the walls with his knuckles.

After a few minutes, Malfoy dropped back into view, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “It’s a good job you don’t use it much, actually. You should sue the pants off your contractor. They’ve built a totally inferior liner that will be useless within a few years of moderate use. It’s a much larger job than I can do now, but if you’d like, I can schedule it in a few weeks’ time. Potter?”

Harry started. He had not been listening so much as staring at the new smudge of Floo powder Malfoy had inadvertently applied to his brow. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, and his thumb brushed at the silvery-black smear. “You have some soot. Just there.”

“Hazard of the trade,” Malfoy said in a low voice. He looked away quickly, focussing his attention on the large picture windows that looked out into the surrounding woods. “You should consider green for this room. You’d get a nice outside-in effect.”

Harry laughed. “Outside-in effect?”

“It’s a design term,” Malfoy sniffed.

“That settles it, then; you’re hired for that position, as well. I had no idea you had such expertise.” Harry was still snickering.

“Oh, bugger off, Potter.”

Harry dipped his head and ran a hand through his hair to hide the fact that he was only just managing not to burst out laughing again. When he looked back up, Malfoy had recovered his customary smirk.

“What?”

“Now you’ve got soot, too. It’s a good look for you, Potter. Perhaps you should consider a career in sweeping.”

“I’m a bit large for an apprenticeship, don’t you think?”

Malfoy gave him a wicked look. “There you go bragging again.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, blushing furiously. “ _What_ did I say last night?”

“Nothing worth worrying about,” Malfoy said in a taunting tone. “I really can’t do anything more for this property today, and since the last two disasters took over two hours apiece, I’m afraid time is of the essence. Shall we move on?”

Harry gave him a quick searching look before reaching out to take his hand. While Malfoy’s face revealed nothing, Harry thought he felt fingers lace through his own just before Apparition swept them away.

* * *

They landed a little unsteadily in the great hall at Lochindorb. Harry was disappointed when Malfoy immediately pulled his hand away and turned to look at the room.

After a few moments’ silence, Malfoy said, “This is a fucking castle, Potter.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “It is.”

“I was curious as to why this one property had three registered Floos. Even the manor only has two.”

“Yup. Three massive fireplaces and it’s still always fucking freezing,” Harry said with a grin.

“What on earth possessed you to buy this monstrosity?” Draco asked, still turning in circles to take in the enormous hall.

“Oh, well, Hermione did some research when I was looking at property. I guess there is some anecdotal evidence to suggest that it may have belonged to someone in the Peverell family. Which would make it sort of a family home.”

“You’ve a bit of a thing for family homes, I take it?”

“Says the man from Malfoy Manor.”

“Touché.”

Malfoy inclined his head towards the tremendous fireplace that dominated the great hall. “Well, there will certainly be room to work in this one.” Harry nodded. “I presume the other two chimneys heat the kitchen and the parlour?”

“Yes, I can show you.”

“No need. I’m sure I can find the way. Listen, Potter, this part of the job is likely to take the rest of the day. If you want to leave and come back around nightfall, that would be fine.”

“In truth, what I really want to do is go back to sleep. I’m just going to lie down for a bit. Wake me if you need anything, alright?”

Malfoy nodded, gathered up his bag, and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. Harry turned to the hideous paisley twin of the sofa in Croyde and sighed. He had never even managed to get a bed for this property. He settled gingerly on the overstuffed, squashy cushions and reined in a fresh bout of nausea. The sofa was awful, but it was preferable to another round of Apparition, certainly.

Harry curled himself into a ball with his head on the arm of the sofa and pulled the flimsy throw over himself. He was asleep almost before his eyes had completely closed.

* * *

When Harry woke up, the room was nearly entirely in shadow. He groped for his wand and cast a Tempus. He was surprised to find that he’d been asleep for nearly five hours.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a set of sooty footprints leading to and from the fireplace to the side of the sofa. Had Malfoy tried unsuccessfully to wake him up? Harry listened and thought he caught scraping noises coming from inside the massive chimney.

As he struggled to sit up, he realised that the tiny throw he had tossed over himself hours ago, had at some point been transfigured into a much heavier duvet. He glanced back down at the twin sets of footprints. A jolt of pleasure passed through him at the idea of Malfoy actually _tucking him in_.

He slipped out from beneath the duvet and crossed the room to the fireplace. Harry had never before seen one so large that one could stand fully upright inside it, and he was impressed by it every time he came here.

He ducked beneath the marble mantelpiece and peered up into the chimney. Malfoy was wedged in nearly two stories above, his legs spread wide, his bare toes clinging to opposing footholds in the walls. Another wave of pleasure stole over Harry at the sight, although this one was decidedly sexual in nature. Malfoy looked so strong and confident poised there in midair. Harry was about to slink away, when Malfoy spotted him.

“Would you like to try your hand at climbing a chimney?” he called, his voice echoing off the chimney walls. “This one is nice and simple. It’s got rings and steps built in for climbing. See the rings there?”

Harry looked at the back wall of the fireplace and saw that, indeed, there was a set of metal rings and below them a set of footholds.

“Come on, Potter. Come have a look at your magnificent chimney. There aren’t many as large as this.”

Harry grabbed the rings and hoisted himself up. After three attempts to reach the next set of rings failed when his boot slipped off the shallow foothold, he dropped back into the fireplace and removed his boots. Once barefoot, he found it quite easy to scale the fifteen feet to join Malfoy.

He watched, fascinated, as Malfoy scrubbed at a stubborn deposit of soot. “You don’t use magic?”

“I use a great deal of magic, but sometimes the manual way is better. There is a seam in the chimney liner here that I don’t want to damage, so it’s better done by hand.”

“Can I help?”

“If you like,” Malfoy said, selecting another brush from his shoulder bag. “There’s an area there I haven’t got to yet.”

They worked together for the next twenty minutes, scraping the last excess deposits from the walls of the chimney.

“That was fun,” Harry said, as they were descending the chimney. “I ought to take you up on that apprenticeship.” He dropped the last few feet to the firebox and stood aside to make room for Malfoy.

“Perhaps you should,” said Malfoy, landing lightly beside him. “Although, after last night, I took you more for master than apprentice.” He winked at Harry and bent to gather his tool bag together.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, his voice edging back towards the higher range.

“Seriously, Potter. You’re terribly confusing. At this point, I have equal grounds for considering you either a sex maniac or a blushing schoolgirl.”

“Malfoy,” Harry sighed, “ _what_ did I say last night?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“You said your chimney could do with a good cleaning.” Harry dropped his head to avoid Malfoy’s eyes.

“Oh, god. That has to be the worst line ever. What else?”

There was a long pause, followed by a deep breath. “That was it, actually. I’ve just been trying to wind you up all day.”

Harry jerked his head up and stared at Malfoy.

“You utter bastard.” Malfoy dropped his head, too, not quite managing to conceal a grin. Harry grabbed his chin and yanked his face back up to look at him. “Well, it certainly worked.”

He took just a second to enjoy the widening of Malfoy’s eyes before he shoved him against the back wall of the fireplace and kissed him. The last of the haze that had been hanging over him all day lifted in an instant, and all of his senses came back to life at once. He buzzed all over, like he had grabbed hold of an electrified fence.

He sucked messily at Malfoy’s lower lip and nudged at his mouth with his own. After a few tense seconds, Malfoy made a nearly inaudible sound and opened his mouth. Harry shoved inside with his tongue, already beyond caring about teasing or foreplay. He just wanted _in_.

He stroked his tongue along Malfoy’s, moaning unrestrainedly. Malfoy let out a tiny whimper in response and sagged back against the wall of the fireplace.

“So which am I, Malfoy? The sex maniac or the schoolgirl?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I draw a definitive conclusion,” Malfoy breathed, tilting his head back against the bricks.

“Tosser,” Harry grunted, mouthing along Malfoy’s jaw and down his neck. “You’re very salty.”

“Sodium,” Malfoy huffed into his ear. “It’s one of the main components of Floo Powder.”

“I see,” said Harry, flicking his tongue along the edge of Malfoy’s ear. “So, is it safe to ingest?”

Malfoy shivered. “Theoretically…we breathe in particles every time we travel—oh, fuck—by Floo."

Harry drew back, startled. “Fuck by Floo? Is that possible? Like talking through the Floo?”

“What? No, that’s not what I said! You have a very dirty mind, Potter.”

“All the better to enjoy a dirty man, don’t you think?” Harry murmured, pulling at a blackened strand of Malfoy’s hair.

“And the terrible lines keep on coming. Really, Potter—”

Malfoy stopped speaking when Harry dropped to his knees and wrapped his lips around the denim-covered outline of Malfoy’s cock.

“You were saying?” he mumbled, reaching for the button on the jeans.

“Damn it! You—oh—you made me lose my train of thought.”

“Terribly sorry,” said Harry, slowly unsnapping the buttons one at time, stopping to place an open-mouthed kiss to the skin behind each button. “No pants, Malfoy? This just keeps getting better and better.”

“They can be binding when I’m climbing. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“So your occupational hazards include the inability to wear pants and frequently being smeared with soot that looks like club-boy body glitter? I’m more interested in this apprenticeship by the minute. Would I be working directly _under_ you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, grabbed a hank of Harry’s hair, and tugged. Hard. “Let’s call this a first interview.”

“So no pressure, then.” Harry grinned. He unsnapped the last button and reached around to curl his fingers over the waistband of the jeans. He took one last look up at Malfoy, who was watching him with an expression Harry had never seen on his face before. He smiled wider and yanked the denims down to Malfoy’s knees.

He ran his hands back up Malfoy’s tense thighs, leaving a trail of soot on the pale skin. He had a fleeting thought that he was never going to be able to look at Floo powder without getting hard again.

Malfoy’s cock was literally dripping by the time Harry’s hands reached the soft hair surrounding it. One tiny shimmering drop of pre-come was clinging to the head, and Harry reached his tongue out to taste it. “Mmm. You’re sweet.”

He heard Malfoy take a sharp breath. “It just tastes that way in contrast to the Floo powder.”

“Right. Professional side effects…no pants, body glitter, tasting like butter. I’m still interested.”

Harry turned his head and ran his open mouth down the side of Malfoy’s cock. He groaned as the hand in his hair began to gently stroke his scalp. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue back up Malfoy’s length. When he reached the silky-soft head of Malfoy’s cock, he wrapped his mouth gently around it, probing with the tip of his tongue.

He felt a full-body shudder pass through Malfoy. Pleased, he tightened his lips, determined to make it happen again. He was so focussed on getting another such reaction, that he didn’t notice Malfoy had taken hold of his hand until a wet mouth suddenly closed around his fingers.

Harry’s cock reacted so violently to Malfoy sucking on his fingers, that he had a moment of panic that he was going to come in his trousers before Malfoy ever touched him. He yanked his fingers out of Malfoy’s mouth and shot him a warning look.

Malfoy didn’t seem to be concerned much with Harry’s dilemma, though. He was staring at Harry’s spit-soaked fingers with a look of mindless desire.

“Will you? Your fingers…” he trailed off, breathing heavily through his mouth.

Understanding hit Harry, along with another dangerous tightening of his balls. He reached between Malfoy’s spread thighs, ran his wet fingers across his perineum and pressed the tip of his index finger into Malfoy without warning.

He felt Malfoy’s balls jerk against his wrist and smirked. At least he wasn’t the only one in danger of embarrassing himself. Malfoy began to mutter a string of the foulest imaginable profanities, none of which were helping Harry rein himself in.

He wrapped his mouth around the head of Malfoy’s prick again, working his tongue to draw as much saliva into his mouth as possible. He shifted into a low crouch and shoved his shoulders into Malfoy’s inner thighs, trying to spread him wider. Malfoy’s legs were now shaking continuously and the hand in Harry’s hair had lost all sense of rhythm. In anticipation of Malfoy’s orgasm, Harry began to suck in earnest, countering each stroke of his mouth by pressing his finger deeper into him.

Just as Harry was tensing for a flood of that sweet flavour across his tongue, Malfoy tightened his grip in Harry’s hair and wrenched his head away.

“I worked hard for this all day, Potter. You’re not getting off that easily.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get off easily.”

“Merlin, enough with the awful lines. You’ve pulled. You can give it a rest.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, not feeling contrite in the least. “What is it that you would like, Malfoy?”

“I would like you to follow through on your promise to fuck me for so long I won’t remember ever having been fucked before.”

Harry blinked. “I thought you said I didn’t say anything else last night.”

“I lied.”

Harry felt his face heat up. “I did _not_ say that. Please say I didn’t say that.”

Malfoy sighed. “Very well. You did not say that. Now are you going to do it, or not?”

“I…” Harry stared up at Malfoy’s flushed and sweaty face. His embarrassment burned away when he met Malfoy’s challenging eyes. “Yes. I think I will.”

“Lovely. Get your kit off.”

Harry looked around at the filthy firebox he was kneeling in. “Here?”

“Not afraid of getting a little dirty, are you, Potter? That could present a problem with your application.”

Harry grinned. “No, it’s not a problem.” He grabbed Malfoy’s jumper, hoisted himself to his feet, and yanked the jumper up and off in one fluid movement. He lifted his own t-shirt as Malfoy worked on his fly. They both shoved their jeans down and grappled with each other for balance as they worked their feet out their trousers.

“It’s bloody freezing in here,” Harry laughed. “A fire would be nice.”

“You’re not going to be cold in a minute, Potter. Stop your whinging.” He attached his mouth to Harry’s collarbone and nibbled. “Better?”

“Oh, yes. I’m feeling warmer already.”

“So that’s that problem solved. Have you got any lube?”

“Oh, fuck. No,” Harry said. “I’ve never, uh, had anyone up here before.”

“What about lotion or oil?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ve only got one thing that will work.”

Malfoy cocked his head.

Harry leaned in and pressed his mouth against Malfoy’s ear. “Turn around and grab those climbing rings.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

Malfoy twisted around in Harry’s grip and took hold of the rings, stretching the length of his back out in offering. Harry dropped to his knees again, wincing at the sensation of the freezing brick against his bare skin.

He had only a few seconds to contemplate his discomfort before Malfoy redirected his attention by spreading his legs wide and virtually hanging his body weight from the rings.

“Oh, fuck, Malfoy,” he groaned, spreading his hand across one of his arse cheeks and printing a sooty handprint on it. “You are too fucking much.”

Malfoy clanked the rings against the brick and shoved his smudged backside at Harry.

“Did you know it’s considered good luck to kiss a chimney sweep’s arse, Potter?”

Harry grinned. “I thought that was shaking his hand.”

“Well, then imagine how much luck _this_ will bring you.”

Harry allowed himself another few seconds to admire the perfect shimmering mark he had left on Malfoy before he smeared its perfection by grabbing both of Malfoy’s cheeks, spreading them wide, and burying his face between them.

The rings clanked again as Malfoy’s entire body bowed towards Harry. He let his breath flow across Malfoy’s arse for a moment, watching the muscles flex and strain towards him, before he extended his tongue and flicked it lightly over his hole. The shaking was back in Malfoy’s thighs instantly and Harry felt another dangerous rush of pleasure race through him.

Feeling that there wasn’t enough time to draw this out, he pushed his tongue in without any further teasing. Malfoy let out a tortured groan that sounded nothing like his normal voice. Harry responded with an uncontrollable groan of his own. He berated himself for not having the necessary self-control to revel in the spectacular scene spread out before him, but this was one area in which he knew his limits.

He squeezed his eyes shut and drove his tongue in and out, battling the reactions that Malfoy’s animalistic vocalisations were having on his mind. It was mere minutes before his endurance had reached its end. He reluctantly drew back and kissed his way up Malfoy’s trembling arse.

“Malfoy,” he sighed into the small of his back. “I’m sorry. I can’t…I’ve got to…”

“Potter, if you apologise for wanting to fuck me now, you’re definitely going to fail this interview.”

Harry frowned. How he had gone from employer to job applicant in the course of a single, hangover-shrouded afternoon was quite beyond him. He tightened his grip on Malfoy’s hips. “I’m not apologising, Malfoy.”

Harry spit several times in his hand and carefully wet his cock, trying to avoid any further stimulation if he could help it. He had promised something, after all.

Harry pressed his cock into Malfoy swiftly, watching with satisfaction as his grip tightened sharply on the rings. He stretched himself out across Malfoy’s back to speak into his ear again. “See? No apologies.”

Malfoy snorted. “I know you’re dying to ask if I’m okay, Potter.”

“Not really,” said Harry, reaching around and taking hold of Malfoy’s rigid cock. “I can tell you’re doing just fine.”

“Point,” Malfoy gasped.

Harry rubbed his palm across the dripping head of Malfoy’s erection. “Tell me again, Malfoy. What was it I said last night?” He drew away and paused, just short of slipping out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter.”

“Tell me.”

“You told me to tell you that you didn’t say anything.” Malfoy tried to wriggle back on to Harry’s cock.

“Let’s see…what was it?” Harry wrapped his hand tightly around Malfoy’s flexing hips and squeezed. “Something like…I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember ever having been fucked before?”

“That wasn’t exactly what you—” Malfoy gasped as Harry pushed back in. “You said _long_ , but hard will do.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Harry retorted, wrapping Malfoy’s cock in a strong grip and using his other hand to press between Malfoy’s flexing shoulder blades. He drew his cock out and shoved back in, gradually picking up speed as Malfoy loosened.

Despite his promise, Harry couldn’t help feeling like he was the one who had never been fucked before. He had certainly never felt anything like what he was feeling right now. Malfoy’s unrestrained twisting and grunting were driving him completely mindless. He had absolutely no idea if his hips were moving with any kind of rhythm; he only knew he needed to move them as hard and as fast as physically possible. He slid his sweaty hand around Malfoy’s chest and pulled him flush against him, pounding as deep as he could reach into the other man’s flexing body.

There was a fire spreading out across his skin and travelling through his veins. The heat became so intense that Harry looked wildly around the fireplace for a second, convinced that they had somehow managed to conjure actual flames. Grinning wildly, he turned back to tell Malfoy his insane hallucination. The words stuck in his throat as Malfoy arched his neck and gasped.

“It’s so hot.”

That finished Harry for good. He was going to come, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He released a protesting Malfoy to spit in his hand again, before resuming jerking him off as hard and wet as he could manage in his rapidly unravelling state.

“Malfoy? Come for me. I want to feel it. I want to hear you screaming while I come. Come on. _Come on_.”

Harry’s words had the same effect on him as he had intended them to have on Malfoy. He had barely finished speaking when he felt the white-hot shock of orgasm shoot down his spine and grip his balls. He had one last lucid moment before he came in which to appreciate the glorious sight of Malfoy’s whole back bucking and arching as he came. If Malfoy did scream, Harry didn’t get to appreciate it, as he couldn’t hear a thing over his own shouts.

Just as Harry’s head began to clear, he felt Malfoy’s shaking legs finally give out. He moved to support him, only to have his own legs fail as well. They tumbled onto the hearth, kicking up a cloud of Floo powder and coal dust as they hit the ground.

“Ouch,” Malfoy snapped from beneath Harry.

“Are you hurt, Malfoy?’ Harry asked, rolling off him and helping him to turn over.

“Well, I’ve had all the wind knocked out of me by some big oaf who fell on me, but otherwise, I’m alright.”

“So, I didn’t hurt you before?” Harry asked, running a tentative hand over the curve of Malfoy’s arse.

“Schoolgirl.”

“Fine. See if I ever ask after your needs again.”

“Speaking of needs, after careful consideration, I’ve decided you will make a fine apprentice. You may start next week, assuming availability.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll have to consult my private secretary about my schedule. You see, I’ve just hired an interior decorator for my properties, and I imagine I’ll need to work quite closely with him on the job. Would you be willing to work around that conflict?”

Malfoy grinned darkly. “I’m sure we can come to a flexible arrangement. As long as you remember one thing, Potter.”

“What’s that?”

“When you’re working for me, I expect you to come prepared to get dirty.”

Harry smiled back. “I can do that.”

  



End file.
